Luyện nghe bài hát Color My World Mine

I met a man who trained himself not to dream
What he seems to have seen was a of everything
He's been painting on canvas since age thirteen
And claims he only exists in the mind of a being
And I enjoy his work; mostly landscapes
But each one is focused on an easel where the man paints himself painting
And all that's in his visual
He said this was the only way he could make real
Ever since he remember, he had one nightmare reoccur
But until ten years ago, it didn't matter
It consisted of loud, distorted sounds off the concrete
He ran on top of it in to reach a ladder
Now sometimes, he'd get so close but touch his destination
Which caused him much frustration 'cause he didn't know it meant
And by the end of the dream, he saw the scene a bird's eye
Only to witness his dead body on the cement

It was only to witness his dead laying on the cement
At it freaked him out, but after a while he grew content
So he thought, "It's just a dream," and living his life
Writing his soul on the 'cause it sheds his planet light
And it goes on and on like and time, ain't nothing odd
It's not that he didn't believe, he just approve of God
His experience was one I comprehend
'Till I stopped being and listened to him as a friend
He

He once saw a painting that told his whole story
It was then that he he was the art of divinity
He once saw a painting that told his whole story
A brush of the gods made him one note in their symphony
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He for himself and not the rest of humanity
He saw a painting that told his whole life story
And I that I'm not real
God imagined me

It's I said
About ten ago, the event that changed his whole reality
Took place on his monthly trip to the art gallery
It was where he studied his contemporaries
And there where he nearly carried his sanity to a hole and buried it
It was a mysterious day
The place was empty
And he got chills down his spine just being present in the
On the wall, there was a picture looked familiar
And when he got close, his heart
cause he saw it was a painting of his
It was a painting of his
His body on a
By a ladder to an airplane with its spinning
Which accounted for the loud
The up was perfect
And that was the day he stopped in existing
He his creator
I mean, words can't
What must have went on in his brain he stared into a frame
Of a work of art which he created and was at the time
The mind can't handle that much, it's just
It's reading a book where each words describe your thoughts
And in quotations, it whatever you say when you talk
You think it can't
But it did
I guess there's surprisingly wide cracks in each life's
He stumbled upon an answer he never had a question
And decided to stop dreaming to maintain his mental
Now he hardly to people
stays in his basement
Writing infinity, by himself
Painting
This is a universe
Is it all a blueprint?
In the real universe, is my useless?
Are we really something a higher made up?
A figment of colored by a cosmic paintbrush?
Maybe all of our art the fate of other beings
every character in ever novel thinks it's alive and were just gods
Ruling
a theory
I don't what it means
But that's the of the man who trained himself not to dream

He once saw a paining that told his whole life
He witnessed the of the word "existing"
He once saw a painting told his whole life story
He his world theirs, and concluded he wasn't living
He once saw a that told his whole life story
The variable that all that is is art
And when I my eyes, I see eternity as a story
A God imagined the God imagined me
And I am God
And so on